


Pellets

by Another Wayward Cowgirl (viajeramyra)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Character Study, Din is bad at feelings, Family Fluff, Flirting, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Two gays and their baby, pellet guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28228971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/Another%20Wayward%20Cowgirl
Summary: The much needed recovery crept up on him, surrounded him like a blanket with its warmth and security.Now, though, he was ready to throw Cobb Vanth from the Razor Crest.Or, maybe just his speeder. He’d decide when he arrived.—In which Cobb decides it’s never too early for Grogu to learn how to use a blaster, against Din’s specific wishes.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin & Cobb Vanth, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 150





	Pellets

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I’ll be honest. I have about a million ideas for DinCobb but I still need to get a feel for their characters before I can write longer AUs/canon verse fics. 
> 
> So I hope you all enjoy this little fluff one. I’ve really loved getting more into The Mandalorian fandom the past couple of days.

He’d been against this idea from the beginning. Even the Guild hesitated at giving him his first blaster at the ripe age of 8, just six months after they’d first found him. They’d had the sense to only allow him a _stun_ setting, though the hours of lectures before about proper gun safety settled in quickly. With little nods of his head, he’d been turned loose, blaster in one hand and helmet squared on his head. 

These days, he didn’t enjoy thinking of what used to be. The past few months had reshaped his world, even more so than the Mandalorian did in the span of years. Everything seemed to crumble around him, the hours and weeks blurred behind a secular purpose. They found a haven here on Mos Pelgo, secluded from the rest of the world and the need to run. Whatever it was that drew him back here after failing to find a teacher in Ahsoka kept him grounded now. The much needed recovery crept up on him, surrounded him like a blanket with its warmth and security. 

Now, though, he was ready to throw Cobb Vanth from the Razor Crest. 

Or, maybe just his speeder. He’d decide when he arrived. 

_The conversation started a few weeks ago, but kept cycling back up over a morning cup while Grogu enjoyed his final hours of sleep. Cobb’s chair always moved noticeably closer to his, his chin propped on his elbow. Then, in a blink, there was a sudden distance as though the proximity never existed at all. Little hints remained each time, in the dew from Cobb’s cup or the croak of his chair as it settled again. Din was getting better at ignoring him, or twisting his head to silence the majority of the discussion before it began. Still, Cobb always persisted with some new bullet point he probably thought of in the dead of night._

_”He’s older than both of us,” Cobb had said, between bites at the breakfast table. “Don’t raise your eyebrow at me.”_

_For a moment, his mouth curved under the helmet. The Marshall did exceptionally well at anticipating each hidden facial twitch, sometimes before Din even recognized them himself. It wasn’t enough to bring a quick end to that conversation, though. He stuffed down the warmth burrowed in his stomach, focused on putting his foot down. It was a crazy idea, too risky. He didn’t care for the multitude of options Cobb swore they had. Grogu wouldn’t be allowed to go along with the half-brained plan._

_“Physical age doesn’t matter,” he’d replied, hoping it would be enough to put an end to their discussion. Really, he should’ve known better. The wave of Cobb’s hand dismissed his genuine counterarguments, the small smile partially hidden by the curve of the tin cup._

_It was definitely the hot tea that had made him fail to see the debate was far from over._

The school teacher required help that morning. Before the suns had risen to greet the day, a rap on the door woke Din. He’d always been a particularly light sleeper, but recent weeks only furthered the habit. They couldn’t get too comfortable, not even so far out in the desert. Grogu was tucked in his bed, still sighing with little snores. More than that, Cobb never slept much. The first few weeks, he’d hid it under false pretenses. _“Late to bed, early to rise. This is the way.”_ He’d wiggled his nose after that one, and Din found his cheeks hurting from the smile that broke out at the ridiculousness. Next it was, “ _it’s my_ _job. If the town needs anything, I’m ready.”_

It didn’t take much to realize the town was interchangeable for him and Grogu. Cobb watched diligently over them, protected them, allowed them to recover after months on the run. The least he could do was return the favor. 

Only Din made one crucial error. The second speeder was no longer parked in front of the little hut they’d come to call _home._ His head rolled back as he groaned, kicking his leg against the one he stalled. He knew where Cobb went, without a shadow of a doubt. He also knew Grogu was no longer cradled in his bassinet, but rather attached to Cobb’s hip. At least the other man didn’t leave the Kid alone to his own devices. Din vowed to keep that inch of common sense in mind when he found them. 

As suspected, on the other side of the dunes just a few minutes away stood Cobb, Grogu tucked in his arms. A makeshift prop was set up, little strings dangling small cans at the end. From the short distance, Din could see his mouth moving, one had reached out far enough to help emphasize the instructions. It reminded him of a day not too long ago, the little sparks and tiny coughs Grogu released when he mistakenly overestimated the Child’s abilities. Cobb’s hatched plan was far more reckless. 

If they saw him starting to approach, neither looked in his direction. Instead, a fashioned blaster sat on a little stool in front of them. For his credit, Cobb succeeded in finding the smallest one he could. The thing was still a minimum of a size larger than Grogu, whose head tilted down, large eyes fixed on the cylinder barrel. One little green hand extended towards it, the blaster twisting but never picked up from his place. The shake of Cobb’s head must’ve been why, discouraging the Kid from picking it up too soon. 

He parked his speeder a few feet away, next to where Cobb’s sat waiting. Maybe he’d just take that out and make the Marshall walk the several kilometers back home. The punishment seemed worthy of his crime, considering nothing happened just yet. 

“Hey Mando,” Cobb said, the cheerful cockiness carrying his greeting like a familiar working tune. “You’re right on time.” 

Grogu poked his head up taking one more glance at Cobb before his gaze turned to him. He didn’t reach out this time, both hands relaxed around two of Cobb’s fingers. Instead, the Kid cooed, excited and happy, as though Din’s arrival was the last missing piece for the start of a milestone. The way Cobb painted the tale, it probably _was_ the thought running through the Kid’s head. Din didn’t know what age the Jedi deemed appropriate for their laser swords— _lightsabers,_ he corrected— but this wasn’t going to continue. 

“Yes. I’ll take him while you clean this up.” 

“Don’t be a spoil sport, Mando,” Cobb whined, rolling his head back. “It’s perfectly safe. Just a little pellet gun that wouldn’t even take out a womp rat. A Kid needs to know how to shoot.” 

“He will, when he’s ready.” 

Grogu giggled as Din finished his approach, and he wondered just how much the Kid understood of the disagreement. His head kept turning in a triangle, to Cobb, to him, and to the little blaster that sat waiting patiently to be used. 

“Now, see here,” Cobb started, placing Grogu down just in front of him. “I don’t know what you think I would let happen, but it’s under control.” 

“So you weren’t going to teach him to shoot.” 

Cobb raised an eyebrow, his lip tugged slyly. “ _Without you,_ you mean? I know, it’s rather untraditional. For that, I apologize but seeing as you’re here now..” 

Din wanted to shut him up here and now. The man’s stupid, contagious giddiness brought back the flapping wings of butterflies, spiraling every decent argument from formulating. Things were never this easy, never allowed to be. Too much of his life depended on the fight, on the chase, on the need to keep moving. He never considered the domestic or the wonderful slow downed pace that came with it. 

He was starting to think it was the thing that existed. 

The pew of a blaster broke his concentration from Cobb Vanth. 

“Dank farrik!” 

Grogu had climbed up the wooden legs of the stool when they weren’t looking. His little frame crouched down next to it, hand curiously floating around the handle. Din couldn’t be certain if he’d actually fired the trigger, or simply used his powers. The angle, perfectly square at Cobb’s upper lip, was the result of such assistance though. 

Cobb cursed again, bowed at his waist. His hand reached up to clutch his face, palm covering the blow from view. Grogu dropped the blaster, thankfully without dislodging another round. It fell to sand below and Din kicked it away, scooping the Kid up in arms. Grogu extended his hands toward Cobb, whining in fear and upset at the sudden grumbles of pain. With Cobb slightly turned from them, Din wasn’t sure he even realized the Kid was trying to bring him comfort. 

He tried to peek around, but the helmet impeded too much movement of his head. Instead, he resituated Grogu in one arm, the other slowly extended towards Cobb. A ghost of a touch swiped against Cobb’s shoulder, and the man finally straightened his back. With his hands pulled away from his face, Cobb allowed Din a view at his upper lip. The far right corner folded, already purpling in a deep bruise. The new crease bore the impact of the shot, but with some bacta and time, recovery probably wouldn’t scar. 

“I told you, he wasn’t ready.” 

“I dunno, he seemed a pretty good shot to me!” Cobb groaned, giving Grogu a little wink to settle the onset of concerned babbles. 

“You haven’t seen your face.” 

As Cobb finally stood completely upright, he tapped his knuckles against Din’s helmet. The sound bounced around on the inside, catching him off guard once more. He rocked back on his heels, ignoring the playful look in Cobb’s eyes, present despite the redness and few little tears of pain and shock. 

“I’ve not seen your face either. We’ll just get me a new one of these and match again. One of the cooks probably has an old pot.” 

“Now you’re pushing your luck.” 

“Then I’ll borrow yours,” he finished, fluttering his eyelashes. 

Din ignored the sudden heat pooling in his own cheeks. The heat always got to him in the middle of the day, even though he had years too adjust. Something about Tatooine simply made the suns more bearable. “We should go back. Get your face treated before it gets worse.”

“You’re the doctor,” Cobb replied, as they made their way back to the speeders. He hooked his arm around Din’s neck, adding to the dramatics of the act. Din didn’t mind, merely leaned into the extra contact. 

“You’ll come back and clean this up. That’s our good training material. Grogu will need it in a few years.” 

“So you’ll let me teach him again?”   
  
They paused as they boarded the speeders, Grogu securely settled in the side pouch at Din’s side. He reached out, just for a moment, to feel the extent of the damage for himself. Cobb flinched at the gentle touch, but didn’t swat his hand away. His first assessment proved to be correct. With some treatment and time, the Marshal’s lip would heal well quickly. Perhaps then, there’d be other uses for his mouth. 

He gripped the handle of the speeder, focused once more. Din bowed his head forward slightly then, already regretting the pending agreement. Next time, he’d select his words more carefully. “Yes, when he’s older.” 


End file.
